


Prayers

by hereforthegay



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Christianity, Depictions of POW camp, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religion, depictions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforthegay/pseuds/hereforthegay
Summary: A look at various times in Patsy's life centered around her prayers.A bit of an angsty character study, but with a happy ending. Can be read as part of the canon. Not quite canon toward the end, but as close to canon as possible.





	Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I know the fandom is a bit dormant now that Emerald and Kate are off on different projects, but I've had this piece clattering around in my head for quite a while, and I thought I'd post it. I've always wondered what Patsy thought about religion growing up as she did, and also how she grew into her sexuality. Please, if you're so inclined, leave a kudos, comment, or constructive criticism! I love CTM and Patsy/Delia in particular, so I'd love to talk about either on tumblr (I'm under the same username there as well). TW/CW in end notes.

_She is four and prays in expectation_

Tiny knees on the floor and tiny knuckles on her bed. She stumbles over the words she has been taught in church every Sunday. English is hard for her at this age, what with the different languages she’s been around. Her mother and father are watching from the door— her mother is pleased. Her father is impatient and expectant of more than a simple prayer. Patience Mount is satisfied. With her eyes scrunched up, and knees bruised from kneeling for nearly a half hour. After twenty-seven minutes of determination, she can finally say the right words at the right time like she was told to. She can feel her father’s begrudging pride just over her shoulder. Sleep takes her small body by surprise the second she relaxes. A dishcloth is forgotten at the end of her bed as her mother tucks her in and places a kiss to her fragile forehead.

_She is seven and prays in annoyance_

Prayers are said nightly before bed. She has not yet grown out of the prayer she was taught, but some days she attempts to invent new ones. The whole prayer ordeal is rather bothersome. Her imaginary friends are better than God. To her, at least. They talk back to you. They know how to climb trees or lie to Mother about how many cookies were stolen. Imaginary friends know how to comfort her when she feels so very lonely. They do not care that she’s a red-haired English girl with a fancy accent in Singapore. Her father is the reason for that situation. He’s some sort of important businessman and she doubts he would care whether they were in England or not, seeing as he is never home. The baby is still too much of a baby to be any fun. Mother is too tired to do anything other than cook or clean. They have women who come in to do that, but Mother is never satisfied with their work. She always ends up cleaning everything again. That specifically confuses Patience, because the cleaning has no real purpose. Her mother says that she could simply close her eyes and pretend she was home with a mop in hand. Patience scoffs whenever Mother says that. Cleaning seems frightfully boring, like church. Obviously, it’s disgusting. All that muddy water in one bucket. Speaking of, the girl from down the street with the pretty brown eyes and silky black hair had wanted to show her a small creek she had found. Adventure is much better than any prayer she could think up.

_She is ten and prays in fear_

Of all the ways she had dreamed of going out into the world, this was not close to a single one. When the priest at the small church at home talked about Hell, he never said it would be like this. All verdant and muddy, all that sun and all that rain. Nothing like the burning in the dark he had spoken of. He had always said you had to commit sins, to turn your back to religion, all of that to end up in Hell. He said that you had to die, and said “Don’t worry Patience. God loves all of his children. Simply say your prayers, go to church and there is no need for fear of hell.” Did God love her now? Patience Mount of the Japanese Prison Camp has no idea what to think of God. There are days when the beatings are particularly bad, and she says her prayers in Japanese, so they could hear her cursing God’s name in pain. She grows to understand that only men beyond faith are in Camp, only men who would not fear for their souls after beating a child. Other days, when there is little pain but great suffering, she prays in English. Those days, her prayers are full of pleading and begging. For food, for water, to be clean. Simple things. She wonders what she did to not even deserve life. God never answers, not really, but He is better than a foolish childhood friend. She will not let herself admit that she misses her old life because then she will be her mother. Her mother, who is a shell of a person, crying in the corner of the hut for hours on end. Patience knows now what pain is, what prison is, what poverty is, and she will not forgive God for taking her life away from her. Still, prayer is a message of hope, and her determination to have hope is what is keeping her alive.

_She is twelve and prays in a hut_

Day in, day out. She loses count quickly and it helps with the hurt. The hospital hut calls to her and helps her forget her own reality. Mother is gone after giving up her food for one too many a time. Patience hates even to think it, but she is glad it happened in that order. She cannot even think of her father, a man she barely knew but she imagines mourns for them all. Mother mourned for him so deeply that it broke her. If her sister had died, Patience thinks that her mother might have just been swallowed by her pain. A ghost— not exactly present, but always there. She supposes Camp did that to Mother regardless, but either way, Patience is the strong one. That is why she sheds a single tear when her sister is wrapped around her. Their mother is dead, and Patience cannot let her sister see her be terrified by how alone they are. Her sister is not resilient enough for prison, not old enough. Hell, neither is Patience, not really a girl and not really a woman. Even at home in Singapore, she was never this alone. No fall from a tree ever caused her body this much hurt. She knows she is a favorite for beatings. An English girl with a proper accent, ginger hair, and the name Patience running around a hospital praying is giving the other prisoners too much hope. Too much of a reminder of a home she’s never actually seen. Her prayers are simple, sacred sentences under her breath as she cleans the hospital over and over again. She will carry the pain of hope for the rest of her life— whip lashes on her back, burns on her hips, various cuts scattered along her dirt-caked and unnaturally small body. A severely sadistic man she will dream of for years to come visits her sometimes outside the hospital. He does not need a reason to beat her, for he does not like to beat her. He claims her. Sometimes with his bayonet, sometimes with a pocket knife, his nails, his teeth. His eyes are those of a rabid animal and when she sees him years later in the night they glow yellow, unblinking, like an owl. She will never forgive herself for not knowing that everything can be taken from you in an instant. Not that she has anything anymore to care about now. She’s resolved to remain that way for the rest of her time on this hellish earth.

_She is fourteen and prays in English_

She stumbles over the words again. She’s constantly embarrassed by it; after all, she is in a Catholic school with nuns and everything. She does not know English very well, but she has nothing to do but study. That and to try to forget the war. Officially, the war ended over a year ago. It took almost a year for her to be taken out of Asia and relocated to the English boarding school. All of the girls here, they think the war is over and they expect her to think that too. Patsy does not allow herself to think that way. She has become a sort of soldier. War is ingrained in her mind. A prisoner is the only thing she knows how to be. She thinks in Japanese. She will soldier on dutifully. In dreams, she walks the line between comfort and torture. She is always back in the rain, cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. She has never been so clean in her life. Despite bathing every single day, no amount of Palmolive will take away the ache or the scars. Physical or emotional. Her body count is three. Her mother, her sister, and the person she used to be. Patsy has killed Patience, in a funny sort of way. She needs to be a normal English girl now, not the girl who stood out in a prison camp because she was English, and definitely not as the pitiful war victim the girls might see her as now. Patsy is the girl Patience would have been had her father not been so in love with work, had men not been so in love with war. She hates Hitler with a passion she did not know she had. She abhors humanity. Men, she has decided, are diseased. It is not in her nature to love the most ill of them all. That is God’s prerogative. Patsy learns religion in school now and in spite of the strict nuns who teach her, she does find some meaning in it all. Love. God is all about love, tied up with rules to follow and sacred things to do. Patsy promises never to love completely (other than God).

_She is sixteen and prays in her sleep_

Tightly clasped fingers on a pew and knees belonging to lanky legs on the floor. There is a desperation to these prayers, so formal and anxious. She goes to church every morning, every Sunday and her heart is in church every moment she breathes. God has saved her from herself. Patsy is tormented by her past, but no longer held back by it. Nightmares come and go like the tides. She has friends, despite her brisk and somewhat off-putting nature. It’s a façade that she has perfected over two years and maybe one day it will just _fit_ if she pretends hard enough. The friends are a bit of a perk (for this persona). Teenage friends who do not understand her devotion to God. They prefer men. Tall, broad, handsome men. Men who are young and fierce and do not understand women. Cruel and undeserving men. She is a hypocrite. Patsy does not deserve the men either. Not the ones she dances with when she sneaks out with her friends. At the back of her mind, the bottom of her heart, she knows there is a reason why she feels guilty dancing with them. It is also why she volunteers to dance with her friends when there are not enough good looking men. It is not because she has sworn herself off from love, but she tells herself that it is. She is thinking about becoming a nun. Flaming hair in a wimple, scars hidden away under a habit, and nothing to do but help people and pray she never ends up in Hell again. The vows would agree with her. (Poverty was something she rather appreciated, more than her obscene privilege.) Chastity was not an issue either. The men in films or in dance halls seemed to just blur away like a landscape view on a train. Life around women, so brave and gentle, does not frighten Patsy like it does her friends. Avoiding the reason she feels that way about women does frighten Patsy. She buries it in books instead.

_She is eighteen and prays in confusion_

She seeks out confession in a church across town.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned”

The words taste familiar and foreign when entwined with the truth. He is gentle, a rare man who might just know his own strength. Sitting, poised, in a dark booth— she cannot speak. Moments pass where she is praying to God for the courage to go on. The man next to her seems to understand that she is paralyzed with fear. He offers no judgment but she knows better. In the end, what she tells him is a diluted version of the truth. That she wishes to become a nun but feels distracted by her past, her relationship with God, and temptations of the flesh. It is the most polite and girlish way to get her meaning across. And it doesn’t even work. He chuckles slightly and tells her that if she were sure of her relationship with God she would _know_ that He wanted for her to be a nun. The priest suggests that if she did not want to devote herself to God every moment of her life, and if there was even a possibility that her passions would lie elsewhere, she should not try to convince herself into the nunnery. His last advice is to find her passions. To go back to her childhood and find what made her survive. To find her strength. And that although he is not an expert on the impulses a young woman might have, she should act based on her promises to God and future husband. Patsy clears her throat, thanks him and leaves more lost than before. She prays in her head for weeks. Over and over for a fortnight. The weight of her decisions is haunting her, and so are many other sins. In her dreams, her mother chases her, scolds her for forgetting. The eyes of the animal are like staring into candles. She sees Mary, a girl she hates, frolic through her memories and create new ones. Dreams that would make even the most solemn nun blush. Patsy no longer simply hates Mary, she hates herself as well. There is little else she can do about her own nature. Patsy does all that she thinks she can do to prevent sin. She is going to tell Sister Sarah about her decision to join the order. She paces for a minute before muttering a quick prayer to gain her confidence back and enters the room. Patsy Mount is shot down nearly the second she shares her plans. Sister Sarah is aware of her previous uncertainty, it seems. The priest had known that she was from the boarding school and without breaking his promise to God, had warned Sister Sarah that one of her girls was in need of guidance in regards to her future. Patsy hates him for it. Such a careless man, so unaware of the strength and damage of his words. She leaves her discussion with Sister Sarah embarrassed, aimless, and determined to never see a nun ever again. That night, well after curfew, her dorm room is spotless and Patsy’s tears dry along with the window and floor. She would leave to heal. To fix those who could be fixed. Unlike herself.

_She is nineteen and prays in crowds_

Training to be a nurse is more stressful than she imagined it would be. There is so much to learn and so little time in the day. Despite this, Patsy thrives. She has never been more delighted to be bone-tired at the end of the day. She earns top marks and a sterling reputation as a nurse. The Patsy persona from school transforms into Nurse Patsy Mount, but it’s much the same. She’s polite, professional, and always in control. Her father pays for her education and gives her an allowance to make her comfortable. She has not spoken or written to the man in years. He was a silent presence for most of her life; he has not changed. Her roommate, Anne, adores her, presumably because she’s kind and keeps everything clean. As far as she knows, Anne sleeps through the nightmares or is decent enough to ignore them. She cleans their room extra well on the days after, as a sort of apology. The doctors are rude, but she expected that. The other trainees are sweet, even more so than her school friends. They go out dancing and drinking and she doesn’t hesitate to join them. London agrees with her. The rain is different. It’s cold and grey. She dyes her hair blonde to fit in amongst the throngs of people. Religion is not necessary in the city. It’s a private matter. No one bats an eye at Patsy getting more practice in on Sunday mornings. The nursing school schedule is chaotic. No time for anyone to question what she does with her time. There’s a church a few streets down from the dormitory. She only dares enter on Christmas, Easter, and September 2. Lost among so many people, she can pray without thinking, without fear or guilt.

_She is twenty-three and prays in a chapel_

A hospital chapel, to be precise. Small and poorly treated, it reminds her of her past. Nothing there but her ghosts and God. Patsy and Patience and Mother and Sister and Father and God but most importantly, her honest self. The persona got easier every year, and although it didn’t _quite_ fit the way it should have, it was a shield. Patsy finally had protection. She does not pray often. Her relationship with God is fractured like every other relationship she’s ever had. God is still a better friend, even a better boyfriend than the ones in her life. She just can’t pray when she feels this stuck. She does not think of her sin. She does not think of her past. She does not think in Japanese. She thinks in medical supplies and cigarette money. She thinks in popular records and much-hated doctors. She thinks she is content. She is content to be average, even less than average, except for in her work. She is exceptional at her work and she loves herself for it. Then the Welsh girl with the bangs and bright smile starts working male surgical and Patsy hates herself again. She hates God for making her a sinner. She hates God for not killing her in Hell if she was always going to end up there.

_She is twenty-six and prays in the night_

Her bedroom is never lonely, and her bed has seen its fair share of visitors. She has given up on God for a while. Too many lost patients, and not enough legal love. Delia is not the first. She knows she is not the first. Patsy might act prim and proper and posh all through the day but in the nights where her roommate won’t be coming home, she can’t help but take advantage. Her virginity, which seemed so clear cut when she imagined a husband, a wedding night, is not something she understands. What she does with the girls who are few and far between is not holy. It is not something she shares with God. It binds her to the earth, simply dancing, kissing, and maybe a little more. She considers it a life of luxury. The lines between innocence and wrong blur constantly. She does not understand what a sin is anymore. When she holds Delia in her arms and sways she does not think of sin. Patsy does not want to fall in love. She cannot afford to fall in love, especially not with the small girl who makes her smile just by thinking of her. Yet despite all of her brutal honesty and guarded heart, she finds herself falling in love in Delia’s bed smoking a cigarette as they listen to Elvis Presley’s newest record. Delia’s bed, which is small and warm and is nothing but chaste. The place where she can find Delia. Delia, who holds her after patients die, after nightmares, after Patsy shows her the scars. Delia who is sunshine and a childhood Patsy never got. Delia who makes ridiculous jukebox love songs sound absolutely romantic. Delia who loves kissing her all over— her scars, her head, her lips. Delia who has the sweetest sighs and a devilish tongue. Delia who makes Patsy pray again— the shallow breaths of a deviant’s desires. Delia who makes Patsy okay with having had nothing, because Delia is anything and everything. Delia, Delia, Delia. It’s no good that Delia is so damn good. Patsy tells God that if falling in love with her is a sin that He cannot forgive, it is fine with her. She has forgiven herself, because Delia feels more sacred in her heart than any promise she has ever made.

_She is twenty-seven and prays in Japanese_

A professional case and her knees fall to the ground when she hears the news. She knows that she should not show this kind of emotion to anyone who is not Delia. Especially not nuns. Even if Sister Julienne looks so gentle and Sister Evangelina looks lost for words. Patsy is beside herself. She becomes her mother, just for a moment. She cannot see without Delia, who is the sunshine that drives away the huts and the rain and the confessional. If God takes Delia along with everyone that Patsy has ever loved, she does not think she can forgive him again. She also thinks she might just want Hell to hurry up. It’s cruel of God. To put her through Hell just to save her, and then to put her into Hell again when Delia saves her. Her hands fall from the banister to her head and she sobs silently. She hears someone new come into the foyer. She knows she should care. She knows she needs to pick herself up and put on her façade. To become a ghost, as Delia had bitterly labeled her. Delia, who had Patsy’s mother’s ring around her neck. Delia, who did not deserve an ounce of pain. Delia, who was the perfect fiery idealist to Patsy’s scarred realism and determination. She does not realize it, the words are coming out of her mouth like sick, and it is all she can do besides feel utterly alone in a room full of people. The words do not stop coming and she barely understands the bargains she is driving. Through her fingers, she sees Trixie, Sister Julienne, Sister Evangelina. They do not comprehend her pain. They have not truly seen her; they have not truly seen Delia. Her family at Nonnatus do not see anything besides a crumpled body on the stairs that makes their world feel as though it has come crashing down. The words that pass through her lips feel like the words of a dying man, a warning of the cruelty of life. It is only after three minutes have passed that Patsy rises from the floor, clears her throat, and heads up the stairs. In an instant, she becomes the picture of English elegance, as expected of her always. While she changes out of her uniform, their anxious ears on the other side of the door continue to hear broken prayers in a language none of them can translate. Both the language of heartbreak and of a Hell none of them could begin to imagine. They do not speak of the episode afterward. Each woman replays it in their minds every so often. One or two have an inkling of what originally passed over their heads. It does not matter, because they know that Patsy has once again been reunited with her oldest promise. The promise of loneliness. They respect her. They support her. They know that they cannot really help her.

_She is twenty-seven and prays in hopelessness_

Sore knees on the lino and bruised knuckles on a hospital bed. Her hands are not clasped. She holds Delia’s hand like a rosary and attempts to squeeze her memories back into her wife. Well no, not her wife. The telephone call had reminded her of that. Not to mention Delia’s mother, who was watching with a careful eye from the doorway. The flowers that were going to be in the new flat are on the floor and Patsy cannot bring herself to care. Prayers spill out instead of tears. She cannot cry too much, she knows that Delia will not be allowed to see her if anything is suspected. Mothers do not want their daughters to live a life of crime. It occurs to Patsy that her own mother would be very disappointed. All of Patsy’s life had been spent as a prisoner in one way or another. She was still trying to make her peace with that. She would have proposed, properly, and spent every day as devoted to Delia as she had been when she was twenty-five. She would have made sure that Delia never felt true pain and she would make sure that Delia was never without flowers. She would have made sure that the china pattern was right and the walls were yellow. There would always be a record on. Love songs. Stupid love songs that Delia loved. She would say vows in a church if she could. She would shout it from the rooftops and tell every brute who flirted with Delia. She would share their love with God if permitted. She has made her peace with Him as best she can. She tells God all this in Japanese. Patsy reclaims the language and makes it one of love. One of forgiveness. It is not perfect: she is in pain, so much pain, but it is hers and she does not have to hide. She begs for Delia back in a language where she does not have to be careful. She has nothing to lose. Patsy prays for guidance and hopes she’ll get some. Nobody fails to believe in prayer when they are in a hospital.

_She is thirty-six and prays in her home._

Grace is said over dinner; she had gotten in the habit at Nonnatus House. At night she kneels at her bed, now that she doesn’t have a roommate. Well, not that sort of roommate. To the rest of the world, she and Delia are just best friends. Best friends who traveled the world together. Best friends, who, upon coming back to Poplar, decided to rent together. They have a bed in the second bedroom to keep up the ruse, but every night, Patsy and Delia share a bed. (It’s a twin and a trundle smushed together, and she’ll swear it’s the best bed she’s ever owned.) They eat meals together, dance together, read together, work together, pray together, and sleep together. For years, she and Delia had lived their lives like telephone lines: running parallel, sometimes meeting, mostly not. The freedom afforded to them now bonds them closer together. It’s more than a bed. It’s a life. Her life. She counts her blessings every night, right next to the best one of all. They’re closer to heaven than Patsy thought possible. With a new decade on the horizon, the world around them seems swept up in the spirit of the future. A man stood on the moon in the early hours of a summer day. An artificial heart was put into an actual man. An act by Parliament two years prior, five years too late for Mr. Amos, is still rippling through England, quietly calling for liberation. Patsy knows the world has a long way to go. It’s unclear to her if the world will ever be capable of all the transformation she and Delia wish for. She’s made as much peace with the injustice as she can. She won’t let Delia see her get angry about how they can’t raise children no matter how much she wants to, or how no Church would marry them, not to mention the government. Besides, all of that matters less now. She has a family in Poplar, a purpose in her work, and a home in Delia. There’s an air of hope and the change that comes with it, settling in the East End. Patsy breathes it in like every breath is the holiest of prayers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> TW/CW: discussion of death, mention of torture (nothing particularly graphic), depiction of prisoner of war camp (nothing particularly graphic), mention of homophobia, PTSD, nongraphic depictions of sexual situations, mentions of Christianity, mention of physical scarring.


End file.
